The RPG Bros - Adventures in Assassin's Creed
by SpecstacularSC
Summary: Four nerds living somewhere in Wales get bored and decide, "Hey! Let's go on an adventure!" And of course, they dump themselves on Ezio Auditore, because he and his allies don't already have enough problems to deal with...


**The RPG Bros. in:**

**Adventures In Assassin's Creed!**

**(Or: How ironic that Carmichael just happens to have a white hood in his coat closet.)**

_(SC's note: If it's any question whether or not I own Assassin's Creed, clearly people don't pay attention to the meaning of the word fanfiction. Which, literally, means "I'm writing a fictional story on the coattails of an already fictional story."_

_However, I do own the RPG Bros. Not that I'm worried about anybody making off with them – although I did put out cardboard dummies just in case – but all the same, it's nice if people, you know, ASK before using my characters. Good sportsmanship and such._

_This story is taking place in the Brotherhood storyline, because I know that one best given how frequently I played it before my Xbox up and fucked off on me._

_Let it also be known that this story is intended for comedy purposes, and should not be taken entirely seriously. Like, if the characters whip out strangely futuristic-looking technology, or when Ezio revamps buildings, just blame it on inter-dimensional shenanigans or whatever. Otherwise, I will try and keep things realistic according to the canon._

_Thank you, and enjoy!)_

Prologue – Nerds in a House

Somewhere in Wales was a small house at the end of an unspecified street. It was only really unspecified because the residents of said house couldn't be bothered to read the street signs, but all that aside, nobody knew what street they were on.

Inside this house were eight people – four men and four women. There was another related group a couple of houses over as well, but neither they, nor the female half of the group, have anything to do with this tale, so for now they can rest quietly in the formless void of non-importance.

However, in a very... well, plain... living room were the four gentlemen who actually do have a purpose in all of this. And they were all quietly going about their usual business of doing absolutely fuck-all.

Sitting on a beige couch which was falling apart at the seams was a red-haired person – one of two – who was probably the only member of the group who could be called "special", if specialty were measured by how infrequently one trimmed their hair, and if their eyes happened to be purple. And if anybody had been paying attention to the text and happened to pick up on those hints, yes he did have a messy ponytail and purple eyes, thank you for asking. This unique snowflake was playing a hardcore game of Mass Effect 2 on the flatscreen television in front of him, which was leaning at a precarious angle on its wall mounts. Something about micro-management of ship upgrades and weapon gadgetry seemed to be mesmerizing to him, to the point where he was glaring fiercely at the screen whilst his teeth became flattened from constant grinding.

As noted: It was a hardcore game.

Next to him, reading a book like a sensible person would – if the book wasn't about constantly dying and reviving just the day before dying, only to die again the next day – was a brown-haired fellow, a tall bamboo rod leaned against his right shoulder. The Bo-staff was about the only interesting thing this one had to offer, other than perhaps a silly design on his shirt.

In the furthest left corner of the room, as seen from the couch's position, was the other red head of the group. He sat at a computer, playing a whimsical game of Minecraft and building... something. It wasn't really that easy to tell what it was, but it was incredibly complex. The chap's glasses slid down his nose, and his left hand pushed them back up gently into place.

Finally, to cap off the boredom of the scene, a blonde-haired guy sat at another computer – a laptop on the table in the kitchen, which was connected to the living room – wearing headphones and bobbing his head to loud music. The program he was running on his computer appeared to be a music mixer of sorts, and from the noise it appeared that he was attempting to make a dubstep out of the Legend of Zelda's soundtrack. He was doing rather well for twelve days' work.

The silence (or mostly-silence) in the room was crippling. And then, one of the four spoke up:

"We should go on an adventure."

The other three turned to look at the brown-haired person in the room.

"...Come again?" the red-head at the computer asked.

"I said: We should go on an adventure," the brunette replied with the exact same vocal inflection.

"Carmichael, I don't care how cheated you feel, we are not going another round in Bomberman 64," the other red-head said.

"That's fine, I wasn't going to say that. Although you are still a cheating dick, Eli," Carmichael replied. Eli shrugged in response.

"So then what are you suggesting?" His Blondeness demanded.

"It had better not be Fable 3 again, I swear to-" the red-head at the computer fell into a series of grumbles before he could finish.

"It's not Fable 3, Xander," Carmichael retorted to the now-nicknamed Alexander, "and I'm getting to it, Lloyd," he said to Lloyd at the laptop.

"Well, can we get to it, then? I'm just about to do Garrus' loyalty mission here," Eli said impatiently.

"How's about a round of being assassins?" Carmichael asked.

The room was silent once more.

"You're shitting me," Alexander said flatly.

"I'm totally not," Carmichael replied with equal flatness.

"I'm in," Eli said suddenly, hopping up and leaving the room for a moment. He returned with a compound bow and attached quiver slung over his shoulder. Though he was certainly no marksman, Eli had honed his archery skills to a fine point over his years of living in the United Kingdom, due to private practice in the back yard.

"I guess I don't have much else to do with my time," Lloyd mused. From under the table, he procured a bolt-action .22 caliber rifle. It was a pain to get the proper permits required to own his rifle legally, but he had gone through with it anyhow.

Carmichael shrugged, stood, and picked up his Bo-staff. He had spent a good majority of his life practicing Bojutsu, and had become an adept fighter in the style. Sadly, this came at the expense of his interest in swordsmanship, which had died a number of classes in. With a glance, Carmichael saw Alexander sigh and drag himself out of his chair.

Alexander was the only oddball of the group concerning weaponry – he owned, literally, a magic staff. While it was true that he enjoyed practicing little parlor tricks every now and again, and while he did study alchemy and hermetic magic, he had never seen himself as a well-and-true wizard. One adventure through Final Fantasy 7 had quickly changed this, as he had discovered that his interest in magic was beneficial to his ability to actually use it – insofar as his imagination was capable of deceiving him – and he decided to purchase a staff for memorabilia's sake.

That staff was now in his hand.

"Sorry, chief, I don't think you'll get away with having that around this time. The only magic I know of in Assassin's Creed are the Pieces of Eden, and like hell you're getting your hands on one of those," Carmichael said.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, fine," Alexander grumbled. He put his staff back under his desk and produced instead a pouch of bombs. Self-made while nobody was looking, and stashed away in the darkest corner of his desk in the event that the police ever came to call. Alexander had never used these bombs, but had always felt they might come in handy in case a thief tried to break into the house.

"Okay, so we're all se-" Eli began.

"Nope," Carmichael replied. Walking over to the coat closet, he produced – much to the surprise of everybody present – an assassin's uniform.

"There's three more inside. I figure it'll be easier if we start out with the gear rather than try and get ourselves recruited," Carmichael explained. "Hell, we might end up on the wrong side of Rome if we try and get recruited anyhow."

"Wait, Rome? We're not going to Istanbul?" Lloyd asked.

"What? No! I don't know jack shit about Ezio's adventures in Istanbul, I never played Revelations!" Carmichael spat.

Lloyd rolled his eyes and took the uniform. After some futzing about with the armor, he managed to get it on properly, and as he finished suiting himself up he noticed that the other three had done the same. Probably in less time as well – it was difficult being six-foot-three.

"Okay, NOW we're all set to go. To the basement!" Carmichael declared. And then they did exactly that.

The basement of the house was completely empty – mainly because all the food was stored upstairs – and therefore, the place was completely suited for the massive teleportation device that was located within. The specifics of how it worked were unanimously decided by its creators to be unimportant, and so the only information the instruction manual gave was that "it worked". Considering that everything produced by the Specs and Co. group was equally as lazy, a smart person would take the advice of the manual with a grain of salt. Or perhaps the whole damn container.

Well, the RPG Bros. - as these four called themselves – were not smart. Thankfully for them, the teleporter had never failed, which was an amazing feat considering that the thing plugged into a wall outlet for power.

With a few taps on a nearby screen (it was assumed that he knew what he was typing, although he probably just pressed a few random buttons to make it look authentic), Carmichael jumped into the teleporter with the others, and the group disappeared in a blistering flash of blue light.

Like, literally blistering.

The narrator's eyeballs have never been the same.

_(SC's end notes: First and foremost, let it be known that I will not be doing the whole, "give me good reviews or GIVE ME DEATH" shit that is so frequent on . If I wanted an ass-kissing, I would have written a shipfic about myself. Actually, I would prefer it if the reviews I did get were, you know, actual REVIEWS and not, "This story is amazing continue writing more oh my god I'm gonna die hurglbrglbrgl!"_

_Second: as I discovered, so long as you have the proper permits, are a law-abiding citizen, and are on private property with permission [i.e., a club or your own house], you can legally own a rifle in the UK. As I mentioned in-text, though, it's probably a bitch to get the permits._

_Same goes for archery equipment – there used to be an ancient law in effect that made it so that every man in the UK had to devote time each Sunday to archery practice. It was long since repealed in the 1960s, but like with rifles you can still practice with permission on private property or at clubs. And you don't necessarily need a permit, either._

_Staffs are probably no-brainers, given that the UK seems to be more forgiving towards sticks rather than guns. But bombs are a no-no pretty much everywhere in the world that you choose to go unless otherwise stated, hence why Alexander had to stash his secret cherry bomb supply. Whether or not they're actual cherry bombs will come later on, when I've figured that out._

_This was intended solely to introduce the cast of the story, on the OC side of the spectrum. They are intended to be wacky, but entirely human despite living in a wacky alternate reality where particle beams and teleporters exist and are local commodities. I'm no physicist, though, so don't expect me to actually get into how they work. Just know that they do, and nitpick about other more serious inconsistencies if nitpicking is to occur, which it probably will._

_Also: damn, I write some long-ass author's notes. My bad.)_


End file.
